


Last Day at the Beach

by standbygo



Series: November 2014 Song Challenge [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: kid!Sherlock, kid!mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:29:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2598821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/standbygo/pseuds/standbygo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft is eleven, Sherlock is four, Redbeard is... Redbeard. They spend a day at the beach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Day at the Beach

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not redistribute my fanfiction on other archives or sites without my express permission. Thank you.
> 
> This is the fourth in a series of pieces, built out of a challenge/cooperation between ResidentBunburyist and myself. Each piece begins with a piece of music, then I write a piece and RB draws a picture for it, or RB draws a picture and I write a piece for it. 
> 
> This one is inspired by RB's prompt "Mollusk" by Ween.
> 
> You can follow us on Tumblr:  
> ResidentBunburyist: http://residentbunburyist.tumblr.com/  
> Standbygo: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/blogstandbygo

_Hey little boy, whatcha got there?_

_Kind sir it's a mollusk i've found_

_Did you find it in the sandy ground?_

_Does it emulate the ocean's sound?_

_Yes I found it on the ground_

_Emulating the ocean's sound_

_Bring forth the mollusk cast unto me_

_Let's be forever let forever be free_

  * _‘Mollusk’, Ween_




__

 

“Myc! Myc! Look!”

Mycroft sighed and closed his book (Winston Churchill’s _History of the English-Speaking Peoples_ ), marking his place with a finger. He was never going to finish it before school started at this rate.

“What is it, Sherlock? I told you I’m reading.”

“But look!” Sherlock raced toward him, bare feet flying, kicking up sand in his wake. He placed a conch at Mycroft’s feet and stood tall, proud. “See?”

Mycroft winced a little at the lisp that didn’t seem to be going away now that Sherlock was four. Mummy said to be patient, but Father thought they should start speech conditioning now. “That’s a conch, Sherlock. Did you check to see if something was inside first?”

“Yes, I looked and it was empty so I brought it. Mummy might like it, for her collection.”

“I’m sure she will,” Mycroft said. He turned his face up to the sun for a moment, remembering that tomorrow morning they would return to London, back to school and work, back to the boring nanny for Sherlock. He felt suddenly indulgent. “Do you know what you can do with a conch?”

Sherlock’s face crinkled up in thought. “Look at it?”

“Yes, but there’s more.” He held up the conch to the little boy’s ear. “Listen. Hear the ocean.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened. Mycroft leaned in close and whispered, “Do you hear the pirate ship too? Can you hear the pirates shouting to each other? ‘Avast!’ ‘Aye aye sir!’ ‘Walk the plank, ye scalliwag!’”

Sherlock’s face reflected the sun with delight and awe. Without warning he dashed away.

“Where are you going, Sherlock?” Mycroft called, confused.

“Gonna get another one so I can hear it with BOTH ears! Come on, Redbeard!” And he was off, pounding down the beach with the dog lurching beside him.

Mycroft laughed for a moment, then returned to his book. He read ten more pages before Sherlock came back.

“Redbeard wants to be a pirate too, Myc.”

Mycroft pulled himself up out of the battlefields of ancient Rome to look at Sherlock, who was trying to get his pirate hat to stay on the poor dog’s head. Redbeard stood patiently, his tail brushing the sand to and fro.

“Weren’t you going to find another conch?”

“Couldn’t find one. Myc, it won’t stay.”

“Of course it won’t stay, stupid. It’s meant for humans, not dogs. Bring it here.”

Sherlock brought the hat over, and Mycroft put it on him, pressing it down over his curls. “You need a haircut, Sherlock.”

“Won’t.”

“Will.”

“Won’t. Myc, I have a secret.”

“What’s that, Captain Longhair?”

Sherlock leaned close and whispered warm into Mycroft’s ear, “Redbeard’s going to have a baby.”

Mycroft frowned at him. Perhaps he’d been too indulgent, let the boy’s imagination get away. “What are you talking about?”

Sherlock caught some of Mycroft’s sternness, and some of the delight leaked from him. “’Member when Nanny Becky’s tummy got big and she went away? And you said it was because she was growing a baby?”

“Yes,” Mycroft said, half still confused and half mortified at himself.

“Well, I was rubbing Redbeard’s tummy and he’s got a big bump so he’s going to have a baby. So there. But he won’t go away cuz he’s a dog and he’s mine and I’ll take care of the baby. All by myself too.”

Redbeard had lain down on the blanket, tongue lolling out. Mycroft stroked the long red ears, dread settling in his stomach. “Let’s see your big belly, Redbeard,” he said, and the dog obligingly rolled onto his side for a pat. And there it was, a lump on one side of his belly, big and hard. How had they not seen it before?

Mycroft kept patting the dog, his mind racing. He knew what this must be, and what the inevitable result would be. He looked at Sherlock, his mad dark curls peeking out from under his pirate hat, his feet, still pudgy with baby fat, wet and covered with sand.

 _Not yet_ , Mycroft thought. _I’m a coward, but not yet_.

He stood up and brushed the sand from his trousers. “Come on, Sherlock. Time to get back. You’re getting sunburnt.”

“Am not,” Sherlock said, the puppy-babies already forgotten, and he slid his hand trustingly into Mycroft’s as they walked towards home.

 

_End_

 


End file.
